Curse lifted! - the Mighty vs Crawley Town

Here's a metaphor for being a Blackpool fan at the moment.

I started writing a bit of a 'state of play' piece in the middle of the week but then I got bored because I couldn't think of anything to say other than what I've already said over and over. I started with fervent enthusiasm and by paragraph 6 was just tapping individual letters, hoping that something would magically happen that ignited the second half of the piece. It didn't and it sits in my drafts folder destined to be forgotten, either potential unrealised or a bad idea, depending on which way you look at it. 

Here's the thing.

I've written the 'this is a disgrace' piece.
I've written the 'give it time' piece.
I've written the 'let's just get behind the lads' piece.
I've written the 'what the fuck is Ashley Fletcher, is he a practical joke?' piece 

I've written the 'actually, on balance I don't think Ashley Fletcher is that bad after all, leave him alone' piece.
I've written the 'I thought Steve Bruce was a terrible idea but now I actually love him like a teenage girl loves a boyband' piece
I've written the 'we need to bring in some players because frankly, it's hilarious to go from 100% Critchball to 100% Bruceball without doing so' piece... 

What else is there to say? I've stopped just short of having 'WE NEED A COMBATIVE MIDFIELDER' tattooed on my forehead and taking to repeatedly beating my head against the glass of the executive entrance before and after games in an effort to get that message across. 

We just need to win a football match at home. 

We're playing Crawley. I'm not even going to bother saying 'no disrespect to Crawley' because fuck me, Crawley. To be fair to them, more or less the only thing I know about them apart from they once fired a manager for having a mad mega racist rant, is, when I was a kid, I drove down south with my parents on a Saturday - I remember looking out of the window, excitedly spotting floodlights of grounds and scarves fluttering from car windows. My football knowledge at that age (about 7) was gleaned from a big book on the history of the football league - and I was confused when I spotted a few coaches and a load of cars with 'Crawley Town' flags - I asked my dad what that was all about, because my mental filing cabinet had no slot for such a name. His reply was 'they must be in non-league' - which blew my mind as it opened a door on a world beyond what I already knew, yet more teams some of whom (like Crawley Town) must have a fair few fans. Yeovil Town, Merthyr Tydfil, that type of thing... 

That's got nothing to do with today - but what else am I going to offer up other than Tyrese John Jules plays for them..? If I remember rightly, Crawley are run by some crypto bros who selected their players from a super computer and I definitely recall them battering us on day one which left us all with a thought that maybe Chat GPT would do a better job than our recruitment team - but they're almost bottom and whilst we're more midtable than a pair of salt and pepper pots we should be able to give them a game. We should be able to do more than give them a game. For fucks sake Pool, please turn up and put them away because no disrespect to Crawley but we've had Ballon d'or winners, World Cup winners, England captains, Wembley hat trick heroes, the Wizard of Dribble* and all of that and they, no disrespect to them, are Sussex Senior Cup winners and not a lot else... Crawley Town don't even have a 'notable ex player' section on their wikipedia page.  I mean, no disrespect to them and all of that, but.... we...can't...lose...at...home...to...Crawley... 

*sorry CJ, not you. 

--- 

After a long and pointless intro, it's a welcome surprise to have something to talk about in terms of the team - it's a 3-5-2 Critchley tribute selection today and it makes sense - everyone seems to be in the right place more or less (give or take a CJ at wing back) and I have a good feeling. I had a good feeling last week though, so the pudding will be the proof rather than the recipe. I quite like Bruce getting all 'later stages in Masterchef where you have to prove your creativity and not just cook your favourites' as churning out the same staple every week has been a problem for quite a long time whoever has been wearing the chef's whites. 

It turns out to be a really very tasty dish. Greg Wallace would describe it as 'laaarvely' were he not cancelled. The test of whether 352 is working is always 'how high are the wing backs getting?' - The answer is 'right up the pitch' - we're immediately all over them and penning them back, forcing mistakes, nipping the ball away. Everything is just as you'd want, Carey is finding space in the hole, CJ and Coulson are making width and they look completely overrun. Two great things almost happen - CJ plays a pass into space, no one goes for it, so he chases it himself and almost makes it which I'd have enjoyed tremendously. Sonny puts one wide, played in on a darting run from deep, it's like a tribute to last week's goal up to the finish which isn't very good at all, slightly skewed past the post. Sonny looks gutted, all red faced and arms flapped in frustration. 

There's no time for Sonny or anyone else to stew on the miss though because we're on it today. CJ has it, no one ever knows what CJ is going to do, he might go on a run and forget the ball, he might fall over the corner flag, he might tackle himself... or, he might pick an absolute peach of a ball out, swirling dangerously and finding the space where Ennis has slipped into unseen to nod the ball home. It's a great cross and a great striker's finish, the movement to find the space making me think of Andy Watson or Scott Taylor who seemed to have that knack of making themselves invisible at the right moment only to then materialise where the ball is... 

We nearly scored again, Albie Morgan with a diving header (well, more of a fall to his knees flick header) that brings an excellent save from the keeper. Crawley look lost. Their keeper can't kick and we keep pressing him and any time they do get out, we tidy up high on the pitch and go again. 

Then the ball is on the other side. Morgan has a tremendous opportunity to cross, but, canny little cockney charmer that he is, he picks a pass no one has seen - a kind of toe stubbed low ball into the space - no one saw it, except for Niall Ennis that is, who again, like a puff of smoke swirling up from a candle extinguished with damp finger, floats away from his man, a spinning movement and then, with the deftest of featherlight kisses of his heel, flicks the ball past the keeper and into the goal. 

We're on fire. The 'Ennis again' chant fills the ground, I think for a moment we're chanting 'pretend we're away (away away away)' but we're not and anyway, there appears to be no need for such psychology when Ennis goes close to a hattrick, a delightful control, turn and sprint bringing him a clear chance that he squeezes beyond the far post. 

More of this please. Much more. I'm loving it. This is excellent. 

Crawley finally have some space, we've just given them a break for just about the first time. Not a lot seems to be on before a tremendous angle changing pass and they get round the corner, everyone, including the keeper seems to charge at the lad with the ball, like moths in the darkness seeing a light turned, leaving him the task to simply roll it across the box where another lad can tap it home. 

For fucks sake. We've battered them and they score with their first effort. It's the most 'Blackpool' feeling ever - that sinking sense that you should have taken your chances and the other team, whilst being inferior on every conceivable level become more clinical than a team of Marco van Bastens coached by Jimmy Greaves and Dixie fucking Dean when they get within 30 yards of your goal. 

If that was an unpleasant surprise, the next bit is a jaw dropping horror moment. It's such a nothing event on the surface I can't really remember what happened other than Ashley Goals and some random Crawley player tussle for the ball. They fall down, locked together in the timeless embrace of centre forward and centre half. The play goes on for a while and at some point, the ball goes out of play. The two players are still on the ground and disentangle themselves to get up. Their defender is rubbing his head pointedly. Fletch jogs away. It's a moment like you might see 5 or 6 times in any game except for after a pause, the ref calls Fletcher over and gives him a red card. Everyone is baffled. The linesman didn't flag, Husband is apoplectic, Carey marches up to the linesman who is statuesque in response to the fury in front of him. Bruce is raging and gets a yellow card for his uncharacteristic outburst. Fletcher looks like a man who has got back to his car to find the wheels removed and it on bricks, as if he can't believe his misfortune but has to now accept it, his face first baffled, then a resigned trudge off the pitch. 

About 4 minutes before all this, I made a joke 'the big question is - how are we going to find a way to draw this?' (ha ha, aren't the terrace wag?) - the answer from the gods of football is seemingly 'concede out of nowhere, then have the most random sending off in football history' (ha ha, football is funnier than you, you stupid blogging prick) 

Such is my shock, I can't remember the rest of the half, save for a moment when Lee Evans absolutely smashes one of their lads into the hoardings and then stands over him and for a brief moment I think 'fuck me, we're going to be down to 9' but a yellow is shown... 

--- 

I'm still in some kind of baffled fog at half time. It's a cliche when people say you can never relax in a game, but fuck me, I didn't see that coming. I think we basically battled out the rest of the half under pressure but without really conceding a chance but I'm mostly wondering how a player gets sent off when none of the officials on the pitch seemed to notice anything wrong. Who gave it? The fourth official as a kind of pseudo VAR? That said, there's something strangely satisfying about the ire of the crowd directed towards the man in the highlighter pen top (who looks weirdly like a medium sized bloke grafted onto the legs of a really tall bloke, giving him the appearance of a stilt walker) because at least its an atmosphere and the crowd behind the team, which is something we've missed of late. 

--- 

Jordan Gabriel is on for CJ, but otherwise, it's the same. The second half starts more or less like I think the first half ended - Crawley push the ball around, we chase it but stay firmly in shape. Their number 5 (he of the hurty head) gets booed every time he goes near the ball which is ace, cos it's felt like we've not even been arsed to give other teams shit at home for a while. 

This goes on for ages. The thing is, Crawley don't seem to be very good. It's a dangerous thought, but whilst we're not able to get out, they're not able to do anything with all the possession. Jimmy is on a crusade, deploying all the tricks in his 'book of shithousery' (quite a big book) and the highlight (as pointed out by my neighbour) is his instruction to the ball boys to hide the balls at the south behind the advertising hoardings to delay any Crawley corners.

We're defending brilliantly, Coulson makes a couple of sensational interception, flicking one back to Tyrer and the other, a sensational cushioned flick that seems to defy physics. Husband makes an equally sensational tackle, just getting a toe to the ball when it seemed gone, diving in with perfect timing when a moment off would have yielded a sure penalty. Offiah is following in that dogged way he has, never letting his man get away and Casey is just being Casey. In front of them, Evans snarls, Morgan and Carey track and track and track and Ennis runs his arse off.

Finally, we manage a break. First Sonny belts up the right and after 45 yards, puts a cross into no one, Ennis having come deep to win the ball to set Sonny away in the first place. Then Ennis again wrestles his man, spins and is away, bursting past one and leaving another in his wake, it's one of those moments where you can feel the whole ground rising, the pressure rising, the roof getting ready to come off... he's in, he's on an angle, he's drawn the keeper... but he's put it beyond the post. The deflation is replaced by applause for the effort and we exhort them on. C'MON POOL!!!! 

Crawley keep doing the same thing and finally make a chance. It's a looped cross and it's former Pool loan flop Tyrese John Jules who is on it, but fortunately, his finish matches his general play during his time at the seaside as he balloons it comfortably over. Still, it's a chance. 

Bruce withdraws Ennis to a rapturous and deserved reception. It feels like the first time we've seen a proper 'strikers performance' since Rhodes' brief but brilliant time of being any good and the first time since Jerry that we've had a striker with pace, movement, skill and some real finishing ability. 

Beesley gives us the outball we need at this point and is quickly galloping around crunching into tackles and being a nuisance. Then, he's picking it up cleverly from who is wrestling for possession when Bees nips it away and spots Jordan Gabriel in acres of space, slides a perfect pass across. Gabriel takes it on and then he's being pulled back!!! he's being pulled back!!! then it's scrambled away and CAREY MUST!!! NO, HE'S HIT THE MAN ON THE LINE and now MORGAN YES!! NO!!! HE'S SLICED IT WIDE... FUCK'S SAKE POOL!!!

Wait.. the ref has pulled it back and is POINTING TO THE SPOT...

Tension.

'He'll miss this' from behind me. Evans waits. He trots in and whips it perfectly into the bottom corner and the place goes mad! YESSSS! 

That felt brilliant. 

'We've won this' 
'Shut up' 

We have though...

Crawley hit one straight at Tyrer and that's it. We've fought so hard that they look beaten long before the whistle goes which, when it does, is greeted for the first time in a long time with 'We love you Blackpool, we do' (and we do, for if we didn't, none of us would be here, We love you Blackpool, we do and we always will) 

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! 

--- 

That was a tremendous game in a lot of ways. Yeah, the ref made a bizarre decision, but in a way, winning as we did, against some adversity and with some real character shown felt more satisfying. Every single player put a proper, proper shift in. We were sensationally good in the first 25 or so minutes and were making a mockery of our home form, then we were equally good in a different way and if you count the chances with 10 men, for all the possession we ceded, we actually had more than them. 

In a way, I feel bad about the opening of the blog. On the way out, I pass some disgruntled Crawley fans bemoaning that they've played for an hour against ten men and created 'next to fuck all' - I just smile to myself because we all know that feeling well enough. All the snobbery is just a front, any team playing in your league has got there because they're good enough at football and I'm only acting exactly like people acted about us in our last trip to the top flight. Today though, whilst we're still a few wins away from reclaiming our rightful position as one of the nation's leading sides and we've not quite got anyone nailed on for the Euro 28 squad yet, it felt all a bit more like you'd want it to. 

It's a win, but it's a win that showed character and guile, it's a win that the players fought for and the manager managed really well and even though it's more than likely that we haven't got enough to get back into it from where we are and probably next week we'll be sighing and bemoaning a lack of depth, it's a win that gives you hope and further belief in what Steve Bruce is doing, because it came from firstly, really good attacking play and then complete and utter resolute commitment. It's a win that keeps the barest hint of a candle flickering for the rest of the season.

It's not going to happen... but you never, ever know... do you? 

Onward!

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At least stuff happened - the Mighty vs Mansfield Town

Anything would be better than Tuesday. Anything. Such was the soul sapping experience of that match, I spend part of the morning trying to talk myself into a positive mindset. 

It works quite well, in fact it works worryingly well as anyone I meet before the game, I'm keen to tell 'today is the day.' Usually confidence is something I fear but there's something in the air I swear. Close my eyes and I can see us ping ponging the ball about with a crisp and purposeful manner and scoring, 3, 4, maybe 5. 

I have no idea why I feel this way other than a contrary desire to buck the prevailing mood and a desperate longing for us to reignite the fire that feels as if it's gone out at home. 

I like the team - it's something different and it feels as if Bruce has pondered how he can the most technically able players onto the pitch and managed to do so in a way that looks quite balanced and hopefully potent. 

We're here, we're ready - nothing can possibly go wrong! 

If we can flog 1000000 portions of gravy we can have a new player. 

---

Mansfield have the best of the early play. We look a bit lost in our all new formation and spend too much time passing to people who aren't there and appealing for fouls that aren't going to be given. Mansfield are playing in a way that makes it feel as if they've got an extra player - we're really struggling get through them -but when they win the ball, they also carry an attacking threat and it feels as if they've both packed the defence and got players in advanced positions. I'm just beginning to fear the worst when Robbie Apter picks it up and with seemingly little on, picks up a darting run from Carey with a beautifully weighted ball. Carey takes it perfectly in his stride, takes it on one more step and then finishes with a shockingly clinical strike into the bottom corner. It's a really lovely goal and one that makes the game look so easy. 

Definitely nothing can go wrong now. We're ahead, that will throw their game plan into disarray and we will pick them off, one by one, like a tangerine sniper taking potshots from a hidden rooftop position, killing stags for the sheer sport of the thing. Just watch. This is going to be tremendous... 

Mansfield are down their left, we're back peddling, the cross is delivered. It's ok though, because we're great at cutting out moments like this. Today though, we're not and our defending resembles some game stunned by a hunters bright lights and as we stagger about trying to work out what the hell is going on, a Mansfield forward appears in between two defenders and heads home unchallenged. Fuck's sake Pool! I jerk my head back in frustration and imagine Steve Bruce's thoughts to be somewhat akin to mine. That's a goal he'll hate to have conceded. 

Things get worse. Mansfield look as if they can got through the middle at will. Theoretically playing 3 in the centre should make it harder to break us down than when we play two but it's like we've got a great big hole for them to run into and run into it they do. They look decent, everything they do is done quickly and every ball is fought for. They don't seem to have to fight much for their second though as they exploit the gap in the middle, one of them running hard into space and then unleashing a stunning effort that taunts Tyrer by swerving away from his outstretched glove at the same rate that he flies across the goal, before it smacks definitively into the back of the net. This wasn't in my minds eye as I imagined us running rampant. 

There's little to no response from us. Tryer and Baggot get in a terrible tangle. One of them should put their name on it but neither do. They hit the side netting. They dominate completely. We're woeful. We can't get the ball under control to pass it, let alone string two passes together. Ennis is totally isolated, Evans is being bypassed and Carey a link man between nothing. Only Offiah looks to have any measure of his opponent and it's something when your right back looks the most dangerous player on your team. 

We offer a little more late on, a tremendous run from Offiah comes to nothing but was reminiscent of Uncle Martin's ability to shrug off a tackle with a shimmy and a burst of pace and Jimmy belts one that's blocked after a bit of a goalmouth scramble. That's more or less it. They've out played us totally and we're frankly fortunate to be within sight of them. 

--- 

I honestly thought this team would work. It hasn't. Conceding the goals isn't the most worrying thing - it's that we look penned in and disjointed and barring the one bit of real quality when we scored, we've offered very little in terms of team play. Contrast this with Mansfield, who look hungrier, fitter, stronger in the challenge, calmer on the ball and determined to play fast and direct, whilst keeping the ball mostly on the floor. I actually wish I was a Mansfield fan because the East stand, packed as it is, buoyant after a great first half showing, looks a great place to be in comparison to the listless home stands. 

--- 

Say what you like about Bruce, if he's not happy, he does something. The players do that funny running over the little plastic marker routine and I note 1,2,3 changes. Deputy Captain Marvel (CJ), Ashley Goals and Hayden hipster Coulson are on as we're ripping up the pregame plan and going two up front, like for like with Mansfield. 

We're better for it. Fletcher immediately wins the ball, CJ runs at their defence and they've got something to think about in terms of our pace and physicality. Coulson stretches the play by hugging the touchline and there's more space to operate. It makes more sense now. Evans can float in front of the back line, Morgan buzz in the middle and Sonny drift, going beyond Fletcher when he comes deep or picking up knock downs. This is going to be ok. 

I'm certain of that when Mansfield break on us and clip the post. That's it. The game has turned. They've missed the chance to bury us. This is going to be all Pool now. 

Fucking hell. It's not is it? Mansfield have just scored another goal. I'm actually beating the back of the seat in front of me (empty, I presume it's usual occupants are at the Sealife Centre sampling the product on offer there) in pointless fury at the utter shitness of our attempt to stop them from scoring. Their number 30 (a dead ringer for Rob Apter) picked it up on their left, cut inside. Nothing doing, so he laid it off to a lad who in turn laid it of to someone coming from deeper on the right. Everyone then ran away and let him advance into the box where he recreated Carey's finish from earlier, equally deadly and equally simple but whereas Carey's movement was sharp and sudden and Apter's ball very well executed, this felt like a team just waltzing across the box and being invited to have a shot... 

The Stags look irresistible for about 5 more minutes. They play really well and have us clinging on. In fact, it's looks very much like we've let go when they cut us open on our left, get a ball across the face of goal and their lad manages to miss a chance that would be easier to score. 

Finally we get a bit of a grip on ourselves and Mansfield start to tire. They've played really well but the intensity of their performance is beginning to drop. Carey is managing to get into the game and gallops up the pitch, 50 yards carrying the ball only to not really have a pass on at the end. He turns it round the corner nicely a few times and we at least make some positions. None of it quite adds up to a chance, but it's better than conceding or nearly conceding. 

Then things get better. There doesn't seem to be a huge amount on as Jordan 'remember him?' Gabriel clips a hopeful ball in. What seems speculative actually turns out to be very well executed. Carey rises and takes a defender with him. I don't think Carey gets a touch, but Ash Fletcher certainly does, scrapping the ball in, seemingly uncontested at the far post. It's a simple goal and it comes slightly as a surprise but it's a fair reward for Fletcher's hard work today as he's run the channels, tackled back, given us a focal point and linked very well. Maybe he's one of those players that just needs dropping from time to time to keep him sharp. 

Right... C'mon Pool! The ground is now alive. It's not full on Bloomfield, the kind that takes your voice away on the air and you forget everything, but it's at least not the morgue that it has been. We romp forward. We're tigerish all of a sudden. We're actually winning challenges, we're penning them in at long last, Evans and Morgan patrolling their attempts to break on us, Ennis snapping into tackles... 

Then CJ is put away, we can all see the pass and the anticipation rises as it's made, it's a footrace and CJ, maligned as he is in certain situations, is an absolute top tier player in this particular circumstance. He goes, it's classic CJ, push, run, push run, past one, the covering run never makes him, he pokes it further and catches it again, for a horrible moment I think he's run it out of play but he's got this, he's pulling it back and there's Ennis, like a modern day Andy Watson, peeling of his man at the front post and scuffing it home, a shot so skewed and scruffy that he has to take a moment to watch it home before reeling away in a pure moment of strikers delight... YES!!!!! 

If earlier the embers started glowing, now the flames are flickering. There's time to win this. There's time to make this into a joyous comeback against the odds season shaping win. We can do this.

C'MON POOL! 

Lee Evans has had a strange game today. He's looked dicey, sluggish and given it away, more than once he's looked anonymous in a way he doesn't normally and yet, he's been great in the last 15 minutes and he plays an absolutely pearler of a pass out to Coulson who takes it beautifully, runs hard and unleashes a thunderbolt of an effort from distance that I assume the keeper gets fingertips to because we're awarded a corner. That would have been some way to win it, a goal of stunning quality that sadly wasn't quite realised. 

Mansfield know this game needs wrapping up. They spoil for time, they make subs. They fall on the ball when they can. Gone is the zip and purpose and now they get behind the ball. They frustrate us and the seconds tick by. Normal time turns to injury time and even though we have centre back Husband overlapping on the left wing and are throwing Casey forward when we can, we can't find the chance. In fact, right at the end, in trying to build a final attack from the back, Casey hammers it needlessly hard at Gabriel who equally needlessly lets it slip under his foot and gifts Mansfield a throw level with our box. It comes to nothing, but serves as a reminder of how poor we were before the efforts of the last 20 minutes. 

---

On the plus side, as a spectacle, it was way better than Tuesday. It wasn't quite 'football, bloody hell' but it at least had some range in its emotional impact. I felt hope, I felt frustration, I felt really quite pissed off, then I cheered up again. On Tuesday I felt mainly as if I'd like to go home and go to bed. The spirit we have is also a positive. Set aside how good the players are (or not) and it can't be denied that they can fight their way back into a game. This wasn't the case last year and in and of itself, it's worth something. 

All three subs had good games - I though Fletcher in particular was genuinely excellent and lit up other players. Carey looked brighter Ennis had something to play around and we had someone to aim for. Coming back into a game always feels good and it's fair to say that there was some real purpose to us later in the game. 

All of that doesn't disguise that overall, it wasn't a good performance at all. Defensively, we were shocking, which is out of character for us of late. I think personally, that stemmed from two things: 

a) we had no control in midfield at all. Mansfield dictated play and made the centre circle and beyond their own. I have a near obsession with the fact we lack an athletic, disruptive physical presence in midfield and this was never more apparent than today. Evans just couldn't keep up with the role of defensive shield and Morgan got brushed off like someone flicking away loose lint off the sleeve of a coat. 

b) the change of shape threw us - it was a bold move and Bruce was right in my humble football blogging know it all but not really know anything much if we're honest opinion to try it - we didn't however look ready for it and played passes short, or dithered as if we didn't know where the runners would be. or where and how to move for this system. The lack of wingers also really upset the defensive shape as both full back were exposed horribly and whilst Offiah had the pace to cope, Husband's days of being able to run the whole flank are behind him. Apter and Sivera were betwixt and between, never close enough to Ennis to give him something to play with or off but also not really offering any cover or particularly getting into the game. 

So ultimately, the first half performance would say it was the wrong choice - but it was a mistake I think we needed to make, even if only to highlight what we don't have and how the formation can change, but the shortages in the squad can't be covered up easily. You can't play lower league football effectively without at least one combative midfielder in your squad. I will keep saying this until I'm blue in the face. We need an athlete who can tackle. It's obvious. How we haven't acted upon this is beyond me because it's not even a particularly classy player we need. Just someone with an engine to cover, tackle, fight and do the dirty work in particular games where that's needed. Marcus fucking Bean for a new era would be fine. It's writ large and I think today showed what we lack as much as any deficits in what we have. Players will have bad games individually, it will always be so - but when you simply don't have a particular part of the jigsaw then it impacts the whole unit over and over again. 

Bruce has to take credit for changing it. He did so decisively and showed some aggression in doing so. Clough had set up Mansfield brilliantly, but Bruce managed us back into the game and as has been noted before, for all our shortcomings, the tactical acumen in game is rarely the issue these days. 

All in all, it was entertaining enough but really, I can't help feeling that the big takeaway is - we didn't do enough in January. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder if Sadler is setting managers perverse challenges to fulfil bets or something. Last year it seemed Critchley's mission in life was to finish 8th. This year it's as if we're on some kind of multi-million pound draw bonus. Who knows. Such is the surreal world of Blackpool FC.

Middle table scrapping draw kings of global football. 

Onward

You can follow MCLF on facebook, Twitter, Bluesky, Threads and Instagram or use Follow.it to get posts sent to your email If you appreciate the blog and judge it worth 1p or more, then a donation to one of the causes below which help kids and families in Blackpool would be grand.

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If you want to get literally nothing more than you'd get for free anyway but are wanting to pointlessly give some money to the cause of a football blog that is usually far, far too long then your best option is Patreon. I wouldn't though because frankly, it's an act of self indulgence to write this shit and it shouldn't be encouraged. 

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Crap preview: the Mighty vs Mansfield Town

First Rotherham and now Mansfield.

Some may say League 1 lacks glamour but if ever two ties disproved that theory it's Tuesday and today. 

I'm still not quite over Tuesday. I've got a bit of a cloudy head and I think that maybe on Friday I was drinking to forget in an attempt to wipe the memory of the horrific nothingness that was Tuesday night. If ever a football game encapsulated the horror of the abyss and a sense of staring into a yawning, purposeless, meaningless vacuum then that was it. 

Life is given meaning by the way you choose to see it though. Too often in the times of polarised anger, we find 'a truth' and then we backfill with evidence to suit the position, ignoring everything to the contrary. I fucking hated Tuesday and the prospect of a turgid trudge to a mid table finish hamstrung by a squad short of quality in key positions and overly dependent on loans because upstairs we've given up on the season and possibly the club itself could leave me not really salivating over matchday. 

There is without doubt possible truth in that view. This is a club so obviously cuttings its cloth according to the circumstances surrounding it's owner that it might as well be called "Simon Sadler has got other things going on, maybe you'd like to buy us? FC" - that said, I'm bored by owners and off-field shit. I'm sick of it in the game as a whole. 

I don't go to football to chat about spreadsheets and interest rates and legal systems in countries I've never been to. It's a sad fact of life that all of that does have an impact on the on pitch 'product' (vomits into small bag, wipes mouth, carries on typing shit) but come 3pm all of that is just fluff because the Mighty are in town and this is matchday. 

If we focus solely on what we don't have or what we strongly suspect might be going on off the pitch then you lose the point of the thing - the event, the atmosphere, the sense of support for the fact there's a group of lads playing football and we want them to win. We've been there with bells on of course. This isn't something I need to explain to anyone. The atmosphere on Tuesday wasn't toxic , it wasn't anything like the rancour that stopped me wanting to go even before we boycotted - it was just flat. Flatter than flat tyre being ironed at a depth of 30,000 leagues under the sea. 

That flatness is understandable. Everyone is frustrated that we've never looked remotely like a team heading back to where we came since we came down. Everyone can see we need some more decent players - but... here's the thing... here's where I try and inject some positive thinking to what has so far been pretty grim stuff - some of that frustration comes because of the good things that are happening on a footballing level. We are defensively excellent, we have got better options wide, we've broken the away hoodoo and are as good a prospect as anyone in the division away from chez Bloomfield, we've got a manager who has 99.9% of the fanbase behind him, we don't send Matty Virtue on for 8 minutes every game no matter what any more, we sometimes change formations during a match and we've even blooded a few kids here and there. 

I guess what I'm doing is trying to write myself into the mood for the game - I have frustrations with the way the club is being run at the moment. I think most people share them to a greater or lesser degree - for all I know, Sadler himself is pissed off at his situation - who can say? - but all of that aside, I also see a group of players and a manager that have some character and resolve and whilst I'm not convinced we've got a 10 game winning run on the horizon, I think that manager and those players deserve some backing.  

We, of all clubs, should know that in football, the owners come and go, the CEOs can write all of the strategies they like and fill them with as many buzzwords and corporate goals as they want, the accounts can be balanced and finessed to tell all kinds of stories. Yet, the point of it all is the game, the crowd, the atmosphere. This isn't, at this point, a vintage Pool side. It's not one you'll tell your grandkids about. However, it's what we've got right now and for the time being, shouting at Jimmy Husband or groaning at CJ isn't going to change our wider circumstances. 

The atmosphere is down to us. Yes, it's also driven by the way we play - but at our best, we've urged teams on to achievements far beyond their assumed ceilings. We've changed games by simply keeping going. We've lifted players to be better than they've ever been anywhere else and anywhere since. 

Football is a capricious game. One minute you're looking at a new era of Blackpool FC and the next, it seems like the 1990s again and everything feels stagnant and the ceiling seems lower than it did a minute ago. That's life as a club like us. It is what it is what it is.

The one constant we can rely on is each other. The crowd, the atmosphere, the noise. 

Owners, business and finance have far too much impact on football as a whole.  If we let all of that dictate how we feel all the time, then to be honest, half the country might as well just roll up the pitches and pack it in. 

If we let our atmosphere die then we're letting the whole point of the thing die. It's our nose we're cutting off to spite someone else's face. It's not about winning the Premier League - it's about the 90 minutes today, now. This one. The snobby attitude to Everton celebrating their draw with Liverpool just shows how many people fundamentally misunderstand that most football fans make their own fun. Most football fans aren't being served up glorious free flowing top level football week in week out and celebrating multiple trophy lifts. Mostly, it's a bit shit with some noise and chanting and the odd great moment sprinkled in to make it worthwhile. 

Yes, stuff has to change in the bigger picture. That's beyond doubt. That's not up to Apter or Carey or Husband or Fletcher or any of them though. All they can do is play football. Get behind them today. Choose to suspend disbelief for 90 minutes and injury time.

Enter dreamland.

Its doors are open.

Return to grim reality around 5pm. 

We're going to smash them today. 

Fact. 

Onward

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Memorably forgettable - the Mighty vs Rotherham

I hate playing Rotherham. It's nothing to do with Steve Evans or any of their present players. It's nothing to do with any of their former managers or stars (do Rotherham have 'stars'?) - It's that ever since I watched Shaun Goatee and his mates overpower us at some point in the 1990s, Rotherham seem to do the same thing every time we play them. They're big, elbowy, well drilled and score at least a couple of irritatingly clinical but equally unspectacular goals and go off back to South Yorkshire with three points to compensate for the decimation of the steel industry and the fact that no one really actually knows where or what Rotherham is, even if, as I have, you've been several times.  

I know statistically this is not true. I know I've been at games where we've cruised past the merry Millers like tangerine jet fighters accelerating past a tired old drayhorse. It's just that makes no difference. Playing Rotherham is always, in my mind, some burly lads who could probably hold their own in Rugby League pissing all over the more cultured and silken skills of the tangerine wizards.

Let tonight be different! - Let us football the big inland Fleetwood to death!

----

It feels like there's no one here. The players run out, not to the roar of the coliseum but to the half hearted applause of a county cricket match.  There are, though, some early Pool chances and we move the ball fairly sharply and smoothly at times. Sammy Silvera is the pick of the players on both sides, taking it well, slipping through tight spaces and driving directly. A nice move ends in a far post cross and I audibly curse Fletcher not sticking his head on it. He just doesn't seem able to throw himself at the ball - he might not have scored if he had, but he never seems to gamble. A far post cross from the other side sees CJ showing off his supremely accurate impression of a year 6 kid heading a football and the ball plops wide tamely. 

Rotherham rouse themselves and lump it into the mixer. Twice Offiah makes excellent interventions and we escape. We then have some long range efforts, Carey touches it off and the bright Silvera hids a low backlift sharp effort wide. I give it an earthy 'ooooooh' even though I know it wasn't going in because it's a nice effort. The next one is clever work from Morgan. We've lumped it forward, the ball comes back out and seeing the keeper off his line, he tries to chip him, with a diving header - which incredibly almost works. Finally, Sonny is fed by Silvera, takes one touch and absolutely leathers it. There's nothing I want more than for this to burst the net, but instead it nearly wipes out a defender and goes for a corner. 

In between the above, Ollie Casey goes down, gets up, gets beaten immediately by a simple ball over the top, (forcing Tyrer into a good stop, rushing out to get a touch on the resulting shot) and then goes off. This isn't good news at all but I suppose it gives Jordan Gabriel a chance to show he's the player he used to be still. His chances have been limited this year and it seems sad that someone who was tearing it up in the championship to a point where a good money move away seemed almost certain is now languishing on a mid table league one bench.

Finally, the best chance of the half falls to Bees. Say what you like about Bees, he does score goals - but today, he gets a double bite and somehow the cherry falls from his mouth and lies squashed on the floor. He's on angle, maybe ten yards out and initially he goes for a weird, placed toe poke effort that may or may not be an attempt to pass the ball or shoot but ends up being nothing much at all. The ball comes back to him though and this time he smashes it. The net billows! There's a cheer! The celebrations are strangled at birth as we all realise the ball has struck the wrong side of the netting. 

Rotherham have a couple of chances at the end of the half that I don't really remember and it's time for the spectacular Bloomfield half time show (listening to the PA that you can't hear whilst some subs lethargically knock the ball back and forth) 

--

I think we've been marginally the better side, but it's not a great game. We look unthreatening up front and whilst some of our team look pretty neat and tidy, overall, we've struggled to put too much together. 

--

This  half starts with me thinking 'Have about 1500 of our supporters decided Man City vs Real is a better bet than this?' - I can't personally see why you'd stay at home in the warmth to watch the world's best players battle it out in a high stakes knockout game when you can watch a pretty much no stakes league 1 game between two sides low on overall technical ability in a night that is becoming increasingly cold as each minute ticks by. At some point CJ and Ash Fletcher conspire to make a 5 yard pass look impossible. Gabriel puts the ball out of play as if kicking it is something he hasn't had the chance to practice. Albie castigates himself when what would have been a clever flick into space on another day is instead a flick into touch. Who needs Vinny Jr and all of that, when you've got this feast of football to devour? 

Rotherham have a ten minute spell where they seem to be able to cross  at will and do so pretty well - it looks as if they're inevitably going to make the pressure pay at some point... Husband gets absolutely dominated at far post as they get really too close for comfort and Bruce goes to the bench. It's needed as we've really not come out for the second half. 

I can't initially work out what he's done. He seems to have gone for a 4411 approach, with Carey behind Ennis. I was surprised he took both Beesley and Fletcher off together - whilst the big man and big man approach didn't really work, I thought it was worth a bit of Ennis with a partner - but otherwise I'm glad to see Apter and co on the pitch bringing some technical ability to what has not been a very joyous party so far. 

We then move into a spell of end to end football. When I say 'end to end' what I mean is, the ball goes to one end, there's a failed effort on goal and then about 4 minutes of bad tempered play happens, then it goes to the other end. 

We carry up pitch but with no one to aim at we shoot from miles away and generally hit their defenders. Apter is direct and breaks at pace several times but to no avail. We look less of a threat if anything despite definitely having more skill on the pitch. The evening is kind of summed up by Carey breaking, exchanging a one two with Apter and then crossing, only for the scrambled clearance to hit him and turn what seemed like certain continued pressure into a goal kick. The apathy in the crowd is summarised by the fact the Rotherham keeper doesn't get much shit when he does an obviously planned fall over so his team can chat with big Steve about their evil plans. 

Tyrer keeps making some quite good saves. There's a terrific dive to the left across the full width of his goal and a really superb low stop which evokes the 'gets down well for a big lad' as he plunges to his right. As much as he can look timid and uncertain at times, at others, he's a genuinely very good keeper who I think can learn to command his box more. He has the raw elements to be very good at this level and games are doing him good. 

I like the Rotherham no 8 a lot. He's exactly what we don't have. He's from no remarkable pedigree but he's aggressive and gives the centre halves (who again play well) a difficult time. On one of their many breaks from our tepid attacking play, he holds the ball up with ferocious wrestling tenacity and then rolls the otherwise immaculate Baggot and charges 30 yards at pace, crosses the ball across the face of goal, cutting out Tryer and the defenders in the process but somehow they don't score. Our strikers should watch that on repeat - how to force something to happen with sheer effort alone... 

We muster a response of a further pair of runs where we slide it across for no one to gamble. It all looks wrong. The formation switch has thrown us - We keep getting up the pitch then knocking it back to Evans to swing in, but he doesn't, because there's only the tiny Ennis there so we go square and repeat as if hoping someone might appear to receive the cross we want to swing in.

Late on, Evans cracks one from distance that draws a decent save and Rotherham then dominate the rest of injury time, largely because we don't seem capable of attacking coherently and keep giving it away. 

--- 

The way I've written it up, it feels quite eventful when I skim over it. It didn't feel like that on the night, but I'm not rewriting it because, frankly it has been a titanic effort reliving a game that never got going. If there's a match that sums up the sense of malaise at the club, this was it. The atmosphere was as flat as you can comprehend and whilst the players tried hard, it was obvious we didn't really have the quality to control the game. Rotherham were Rotherham - but they weren't a particularly good version of Rotherham. 

Bruce got it wrong tactically, but when he adjusted things (and to his credit, he made sweeping changes fairly early) it didn't really have any great impact. I found it odd that he took off both the bigger players and went for Ennis with Carey as a link player but then, I'm not going to criticise him for shifting formation - managers get it wrong sometimes and had we stuck to 442 slavishly, I'd probably have moaned at that too. I don't want to sound like a broken record, it's still hard to see how the way we play is going to regularly succeed without a tough tackling and physically dominant midfielder as every single midfielder we have is better with that kind of player to free them up. 

Overall, the apathy feels tangible. The crowd was subdued. At times I literally yawned. We all know the finances of football are mad - but when the club raises prices and justifies it in terms of the playing squad and the next January window resembles more of a firesale than anything else, people are going to feel flat. I'm not against the principle of 'less is more' and Rome isn't built in a day and all of that - but having pulled in a massive fee for Joseph and let multiple players go (including several high earners) it is sad that we enter February with a squad that still looks fundamentally incomplete, especially when what we need is a bit of physicality in the middle of the pitch - That's a quality that is not in short supply in the lower leagues.  I don't doubt that Silvera, Ennis and Bloxham improve us - but they don't improve us enough to make it seem likely a promotion push will happen and therefore we're left with football for football's sake to entertain us - and last night was really dismal if you wanted to just enjoy the spectacle. 

I'm left wondering again what we're doing here. I don't mean Steve Bruce - because he's built up too much credit for one misguided selection to change that. I mean the club as a whole - because we seem to have trod water now for quite a long time and last night was the epitome of that - no lack of effort - but without a flash of magic, we couldn't find a way to win. We've come down from the Championship and never really looked anything like a Championship side in waiting - we've reverted to being a league 1 side and last night was exactly that essence of a crap league 1 game between two flawed mid table sides who canceled each other out. Is that what we are? Are we going to continue to do 'just enough' and call it 'ambition' and get tetchy when that is questioned or are we doing something over a longer term? It would help a lot to know, instead of just guessing - because from here, it looks an awful lot like the enthusiasm behind the scenes has run out - and if that's a misguided interpretation, then I'd love to know why. 

I always expect the worst vs Rotherham. This was in some ways worse than I expected. 

Onward

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CJ: Captain Marvel - the Mighty vs Charlton Athletic

There is more than a hint of spring in the air. Spring's appeal is the promise of summer to come. There's maybe a hint of spring in our footballing circumstances too, it's not so much that you look at our squad and see a midsummer's day of an automatic promotion squad, but more that the likes of Bloxham and Ennis offer the kind of hope for better days on the horizon.

What about today though? This division seems to consist of the following:

a) teams with no fans that are miles away
b) teams with some fans that are miles away but play us on tuesday night so might as well have no fans
c) teams with loads of fans but who've spent the equivalent of the cost of several new battleships just to try and get out of this crappy division which doesn't really endear them to anyone whose budget is more in line with hiring a boat on Stanley Park lake than commissioning a Yankee version of HMS Piss the League.
d) Huddersfield, Rotherham, Wigan and Charlton and us. 

I think what I'm saying is, there feels like a lack of 'proper' clashes to look forward to. Blackpool vs Charlton, however is a classic fixture in a way. It's of no particular historic import, save for the fact it oozes a sense of time, it carries an immediate post war vibe, long shorts, heavy shirts, burning capstan tobacco mingling with steam engine smoke, likely a fair smattering of international players between the two sides and if you're lucky, somewhere it will be recorded in the Pathe news archive. I've not checked yet, because I'd rather imagine it - packed crowds, demob suited, rattle waving, swaying to the game and watching nimble wingers fight it out with brutal hobnailed cloggers on rutted mess of a pitch. I would give almost anything to experience football like that, as it was and as exists now only as an increasingly hazy, semi-mythic folk memory.

I've digressed haven't I? 

The car is broken so I'm on the train. I like that. It means a walk on a nice day and an extra beer or two. I watch a man in very expensive looking knitwear read a book on the philosophy of Wagner (spoiler mate, he's into superbeings and all that weird shit I think), 4 Japanese girls sit down across from me and fulfil every lazy stereotype of Japanese girls, filming everything in sight with their manga sticker adorned phones with seemingly no discernment between the mundane and interesting. A lad in a tracksuit loudly tells his mate "I need a fucking massive turd soon or it's going to be armageddon" - variety is truly the spice of life and the train to Blackpool is often spicier than most. I wonder if Wagner would like it. 

Walking across town, there's a smattering of kids clutching prizes from the arcade, some sharp and pinched faced ghouls skulking from shadow to shadow as if frightened of the daylight and a steady plod of pensioners making for their favourite cafe. The sky is blue enough for Blackpool to start making some sort of sense. I mean, let's be honest, Blackpool never makes sense, (that's the whole appeal and purpose of the place) but on a wet and dark Wednesday in winter, it makes the least sense of all, a town shuttered as if the tide has gone out, never to return. In the crisp air, there's just a sense of the season to come, the seaside returning to life. A few more businesses on the front chance an opening, like the first tentative snowdrops coming to bud.

Anyway. Football. 

---

On the pitch Bruce declares, "If it's not broke, why fix it" with a same again line up - It takes a while for us to get going and despite some canny flicks from Bloxham and nice link work from Fletcher, we can't find our way around Charlton's niggly and resolute play. They're every inch a Nathan Jones side and for a man who is a devout Christian I sometimes wonder if he's read a bit of the Bible I've missed in my skim readings that declares "thou shalt trip and push and pinch thy opponent, for the Lord declared, it is the shithouse who shalt inherit the earth, especially if he waves and shouts all the time like a maniac"

It's about half way through the first half that we start to look something like and it's a series of crosses into the box that threaten to undo Charlton. I can't remember the order of things but variously, Baggot squeezes a header just past the post, one goes all the way through and just past the post, Husband comes from deep and just doesn't quite get the touch on an another. All the while, I'm watching the otherwise much improved Fletcher and thinking 'he always seems to act as if he thinks there's a number 9 behind him that he doesn't want to get in the way of' and that a week worth of 'diving header and chucking yourself at stuff' practice wouldn't go amiss. Maybe he's got an imaginary striking partner in his head and perhaps Ennis can get on that wavelength and make that real. A physical manifestation of Ash Fletcher's dream... 

We're definitely on top. CJ gets on the end of a stabbed pass, gets round the back and draws a decent save, then makes a hash of a terrific cross a few minutes later. The nicest bit of play in the half sees us move it quickly, stand it up for Fletcher who nods down for Carey to not quite get over the top of the chance and put it a few inches over the top.

---

We've been the better side and it feels as if anyone is going to win this, it's us.

---

When will I learn?

Their first is a black comedy of a goal. A cross. Tyrer tips it away from the on coming striker, but only to a deeper lying player. He lashes it in and then we seem to clear it twice only for it to come back each time as it was on elastic and then to finally fall in the net somehow with everyone despairingly close to stopping it. Agony. Tryer then adds a punchline to the painful joke by trying to lash it up the pitch for kick off only for it to smack into one of our players backs and into the goal again. Fuck's sake football. 

We need a response to this...

The response isn't optimal. In fact, it's more sub-optimal than anything else. We let Charlton all down the right where there best player (no 7) belts it hard into the ruck of players at the near post and it comes off what is possibly Ollie Casey at exactly the wrong angle and gives Tyrer no chance. Hmm. I just sigh. I dunno. I should never hope. Maybe it's my fault. 

So much for being the better side. Football is brutal like that. Sometimes, it feels as if it's not so much a sport but a giant exercise in proving that the ratty teacher everyone had who snapped "Not fair? listen, life's not fair and you'll have to live with that, so might as well start getting used to it now" was right. 

I try to reason with myself. There's still stuff worth watching. Might as well spin the wheel and give some of the new lads a go eh? See what happens. Satisfy our curiosity. 

Bruce responds quickly to my telepathy and in a move of 5d chess level proportions (it's like 4d chess but with 1 more d) takes off Jimbo and out thinks everyone in the ground by making CJ the captain. CJ looks really surprised and eyes the armband as if not entirely sure how to put it on. He's nothing if not resilient and manages it without any mishap (i.e. putting on his leg or head) 

He also brings on some of the new blood. first Silvera and then Ennis and that injection of technique and urgency to impress makes all the difference. Whilst we arguably look more ragged at the back (CJ is not only skipper but playing left back, another role no one knew (let alone him) that he could do) we start to look more purposeful going forward, with Ennis looking fleet footed and skillful and Silvera in and out of pockets of space doing unpredictable things in a way that vaguely reminds me of those great flashes of Ian Poveda when he wasn't flouncing about in a mad car and pissing managers off.

There's some ooohs as we go close (a sudden shot from out of nowhere from Bloxham well saved by their keeper) and some groans as promising moves break down. Even after the second Charlton goal, there remained a slightly surprising sense that we could get back into this but it's just starting to dissipate when ..

... things start to get interesting and my recollection from here on probably becomes a bit more expressionistic. Silvera has it in midfield thanks to a sharp touch from Morgan and he's slaloming in that alarming way that players like him do where it feels as if they're on the verge of losing the ball all the time and each tackle they come through surprises you more and then suddenly he's having a shot and it's a great one swerving past the keeper and home and that belief is now back... Glance to the clock. Time left to win this... (what am I thinking?) 

... then it's Beesley, much maligned, but ever game and scorer of surprising goals who is chasing what seems not too promising a a cause but I've got a feeling somehow that something might go for us here and for once, the feeling is right as Bees crashes in, the defender is careless and our gangly hero is coming out with the ball and is astonishingly in on goal and then battering a shot from what feels too far out, but proves not to be as the keeper is totally done, but the bar saves Charlton... the woodwork, though has barely stopped vibrating as Ennis males the rebound, wrestles or wriggles some space (I don't know to be honest, he just got there and found it somehow) and slots it home! YESSSSSSSSSS!

Football. Flippin' heck as someone sort of once said. 

We're not done. There's some wobbly moments as Charlton try and play it off the massive Aneke (I like him, cos we know I like a big lad up front, though a Charlton fan after the game describes him to me as 'total dogshit') and we panic a bit. Sonny turns out to have a really quite decent long throw and to be able to chuck it quite a long way without trying very hard, a fact that seems as previously unlikely as CJ's inspirational leadership style inspiring the sensational turnaround it clearly does.

...Then, we break, one pass out, a look, a long raking ball and Sonny, full pelt, into the path of the ball, hearing through. This is it... he checks, he winds up, I swear I'm on the pitch in a moment and the ball suddenly isn't there for the shot because, for all the world it looks as if the defenders hand has moved it...

Of course, there's no penalty. I'm convinced it was one. I'm miles away, but the Kop is closer and Sonny closest of all are both apoplectic but the referee (who this week looks like the result of an AI image generated response to the prompt "Mix up the actor Toby Jones with a stocky body builder then dress him up as a highlighter pen") says, 'nah. Soz not happening ' possibly because he's not up with the play, so swift was our break... and then just to add insult to injury, he then ignores CJ getting cleaned out moments later and  runs away - all luminous denial of our hopes and over developed pectoral muscles in a deliberately too small shirt. Fucking refs. 

At some point before or after the above incident, (what was initially a poor watch has become one of those games it's hard to keep track of) there's some incredible defending from us, with Baggot chucking himself about like him and Casey are Pallister and Bruce reincarnated and just a general sense of 'thou shalt not fucking nab this you spawny London bastards' which thankfully prevails. 

There's time for another near moment wh Sonny doesn't quite get to it and for Charlton to bring on an even bigger player than Aneke for a final free kick that we hack away and for the whistle to blow on a decent game...

---

I'm happy enough afterwards. We played pretty well overall and again carried a threat. Charlton aren't a bad side and coming back from 2 goals down is a decent achievement, even if going two goals down isn't ideal stuff. 

The main thing I like is that our mentality is right. I don't like using the word 'mentality' - it's a football cliche and the type of thing that dickhead managers (i.e. Nathan Jones) would shout whilst tapping the side of their heads as if using a fancy word which basically means 'try' is next level stuff but nonetheless, it sums up the difference between Pool for a good while in the recent past (flat, easily bullied, beaten if going behind) and Pool now - it feels like a team, it feels as if they care and it feels as if they believe in what we're doing, in each other and in the manager. From that comes a sense of enjoyment and like in theatre or music or whatever else you might watch, it doesn't matter how theoretically worthy or intelligent what you are watching is, if the performer in front of you isn't getting anything out of it, there's nothing really there to take away. 

I was also delighted to see the new players impact the game. Bloxham we know already - he looks like the handsome blacksmith's apprentice who is the love interest in a BBC adaptation of a Thomas Hardy novel but plays like he's on course for Euro 2028. Silvera and Ennis were much more of a mystery before this game and obviously a goal for each is the ideal impact - and one that underlines that we've now got options and both puts pressure on the likes of Apter (who struggled a bit today) and also, probably more fairly, gives them a chance for a rest because some of them have carried a lot of weight being the only player for their roles. 

The squad ain't finished. (CJ at left back was... different... for a start) and we're definitely not there yet - but the feel is good, the fanbase is uniting around what we're doing on the pitch and in the last 15 minutes, there was something akin to a 'proper' Bloomfield atmosphere. I'm slightly hoarse. That's what football should do to you... the point is - we're building something that has the right vibe to it - and that's what new players will walk into - that matters massively - because football is a team sport and the values and mindset of the team you are in shapes your individual performance.  It's hard to think of many of the players who were here, who don't look more committed, more consistent and more confident. We might have finished 8th, but Kaddy was so many of those points that it's deceptive and seeing Carey growing, watching Casey thriving, seeing Joseph earn his big break and so on, it's hard to imagine that being the case had we stuck instead of twisting. 

We might have drawn a game we should have won - but the positives outweighed the frustration and the sense that we're slowly getting what we need together and being guided by quiet and calm expertise, not guesswork and buzzword bluster leaves me feeling ok about it all.

Better to sneak up on the outside where no one expects us anyway... 

Onward

You can follow MCLF on facebook, Twitter, Bluesky, Threads and Instagram or use Follow.it to get posts sent to your email If you appreciate the blog and judge it worth 1p or more, then a donation to one of the causes below which help kids and families in Blackpool would be grand.

Home-Start Blackpool Food Bank

If you want instead to get literally nothing more than you'd get for free anyway but are wanting to pointlessly give some money to the cause of a football blog that is usually far, far too long then your best option is Patreon. I wouldn't though because frankly, it's an act of self indulgence to write this shit and it shouldn't be encouraged. 

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